by Cara Dee
The engine started with a low, rumbling purr, and I swallowed hard and buckled up.
Finnegan fastened his seat belt too.
It sparked a trickle of amusement in me. “I didn’t know criminals bothered with seat belts.”
He kept his eyes on the road as he drove, and his mouth twitched at the corner. “There’s nothing more irritating than executing a perfect killing spree and then going down for traffic violations.”
I dropped my jaw and froze in horror.
He took one look at me and chuckled. “That’s a joke, Emilia.”
Son of a bitch! I wanted to slap him so bad. I sat back with a huff and folded my arms over my chest.
You’ll get the last laugh. Remember that.
Stewing in silence, I thought of the questions Agent Caldwell had proposed. I couldn’t very well ask Finnegan about his crimes outright; I had warm up to more personal stuff. The agent had also warned me it could take a long time for Finnegan to open up. In short, this date had to look like a regular date, and at best, maybe I could give the Feds minor clues. Such as dates, locations, and their everyday whereabouts. Every little thing was logged to map out their operations.
“Thank you for the outfit.” My voice was too clipped, so I tried to unclench and added, “You didn’t have to be that generous.” That was better.
“My pleasure.”
Finnegan went on to say something else, but I couldn’t for the life of me hear what he said. My entire body buzzed as he hit the freeway and accelerated. I looked down at my lap, then at the floor. Holy fuck. What roaring monstrosity did he drive? The car wasn’t noisy, but it felt…like we were in a powerful tank. And it was having the strangest effect on me. Something rushed inside me, and I white-knuckled the edges of the seat.
I didn’t know squat about horsepower, but I had a feeling this vehicle had lots of them.
“Oh my God,” I mouthed. He kept speeding up, passing cars in a blur, and my heart hammered.
Bad day not to wear panties so I could hide the lines. Bad, bad day.
My breathing hitched. Thank fuck the car was dark. My cheeks flushed, my stomach tightened, and I squirmed.
Looking out the window didn’t make things any easier. We were going so fast, sending a rush of adrenaline through me.
“Emilia?”
“Huh?” My response came out all breathy, and I had to cough.
He side-eyed me and frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yes.” Maybe a bit too okay. “Did you say something earlier?”
At this point, Finnegan could go to hell so I could marry his car instead. Sweet baby Jesus.
“Yeah, I asked if you’re hungry.”
Famished for Aston Martin, it seemed. “Yes.” I loosened my grip on the leather and wiped my suddenly clammy hands on my thighs. “So, um…” I leaned sideways to peer at the speedometer. “What did you say about traffic violations?”
He laughed through his nose and slid his hands over the wheel, relaxing. “Five or ten over the limit isn’t too much.”
“You’re right, it’s not. The speed limit here is also not ninety.”
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn—”
“It’s freaking seventy, Finnegan!”
He laughed and slowed down a teensy bit. “Not a fan of speed?”
“I didn’t say that.” I’d never gone this fast before, that was all. Whether or not I was a fan was becoming abundantly clear. My body screamed yes.
“That’s why I asked.”
“Jesus Christ, man.” I scowled at him.
“You’re funnier than I expected,” he mused.
Oh, really. “What did you expect?”
He hummed, smoothly maneuvering us through the traffic. “Less sass.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t. Instead, I squirmed some more and blew out a breath. If he asked me out again, I hoped he brought the car. It was his best feature.
Chapter 5
Emilia Porter
As we got closer to Gettysburg, he had to slow down further. We got stuck a few times too. That’s when he pulled out a pack of smokes and rolled down his window. He extended the pack to me, a silent offering.
“I don’t smoke,” I lied. Or maybe it was a half lie. I never bought them. Too expensive.
“Sure you do.” He sparked up one for himself before extending the pack again, and I narrowed my eyes at him. I’d never smoked in his presence.
“Have you been stalking me?” I asked.
“Only a little.”
Ohh, only a little. Well, then, everything was okay! Motherfucker. I gritted my teeth and looked away from him. Every time he spoke, it was as if a little bit of the world I once knew was chipped away. A couple weeks ago, my life was predictable and bleak. Now…now I spoke to an FBI agent on a daily basis, I wore clothes that cost more than…I didn’t even know, and I was on a date with a mobster who’d stalked me only a little.
“So what’s this offer you wanted to discuss with me?” I asked impatiently.
He exhaled some smoke and flicked ashes out the window. “I want you to marry me.”
I blinked, having not expected him to answer me right away. And I definitely didn’t expect him to say that…so bluntly.
I had nothin’. My brain went blank. Part of me knew this was a possibility, considering what Sarah was going through with Finnegan’s brother, but denial was such a sweet state.
“No comeback, sassafrass?” he murmured. “You disappoint me.”
“Bite me.” Shit. That just tumbled out of me, I swear.
“Not on the first date,” he replied.
I grew increasingly aggravated around this dude, mainly because I couldn’t fucking understand anything.
“Why me?” I had to ask, and I loathed the pinch of desperation that seeped into my voice. “Seriously, Finnegan—”
“Jesus,” he whispered. “The way you say my name is sexy as fuck.”
I was gonna wring his damned neck before the evening was over. I almost screamed, that’s how frustrated he made me. One second, I was terrified of him. The next, I contemplated kicking him in the balls. He also caused my body to go on a roller coaster with the way I reacted to him. It pissed me off.
“Answer me,” I demanded.
He took a final drag from his cigarette, then threw it out the window. “I will, eventually. Not now.”
Grr.
Finnegan didn’t talk much as we entered Gettysburg and looked for parking. Perhaps that was how I managed to calm down.
The restaurant wasn’t far from the town center and Lincoln Square, and we walked the last bit. Spring was in the air, and I saw vans everywhere. Was that an FBI van? No? What about this one? Were they even here?
Finnegan had perfect manners for a gangster. He put himself between traffic and me, he opened doors, and he even pulled out my chair for me in the restaurant. It was a lively place with two chefs cooking for everyone to see near the front of the dining room. Finnegan and I were seated in the back, offering more seclusion, and it wasn’t as loud here. Paper lanterns filled the ceiling, creating an intimate atmosphere. A date atmosphere. And there were Chinese folding screens all over to offer even more privacy. Definitely a place for couples.
I shrugged out of my little jacket.
“May I take your drink order, sir?” the waitress asked.
I opened my menu.
“I’ll have a beer,” Finnegan replied. “Whatever you have on tap is fine. And my date will have a vodka cranberry.”
What the fuck?
“Right away, sir.” The waitress scurried off without asking for my ID, and I looked at Finnegan over my menu.
“How do you know I like vodka cranberry?”
He smiled and picked up his own menu. “I know a lot about you.”
Yeah, I’d gathered that. “That’s not what I asked, asshole.”
“I’m beginning to love your temper.” He chuckled. “I didn’t know you had one, to be h
onest.”
I closed my eyes. Someone kill me, please. The guy exhausted me.
“It’s called research, Emilia.” He switched gears and quit dodging, for once. “I have access to a lot of information. It’d be stupid not to use it.”
Meh, still dodging. “Yeah, criminals tend to have all kinds of access,” I muttered tiredly.
“This again.” He closed his menu and clasped his hands on the table. “Emilia, I’ve paid for my crimes. Things are different today from how they were years ago. I’m a changed man. I run a successful firm, a legit one, and I’m ready to move on. That’s where you come in.”
For one second, I thought he’d give me a sliver of honesty. It was refreshing that he broached the topic of his past, but it wasn’t enough. The last part wasn’t even a decent lie.
“You’re gonna have to give me more credit than that,” I said. “My best friend has just agreed to marry your brother so he can look good for his boss. But unless he’s running for president, I don’t think image matters that much.”
He nodded, conceding. “What I’m saying is that the SoM I’m part of has changed. You’ve heard of the organization, I assume.”
“The whole country has heard of it, Finnegan.”
He offered a crooked smile. “And the management still clings to old traditions. In order to gain trust and higher ranks, it’s important to our boss that we’re settled. It makes us look better if we’re family men, so yeah, image matters.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, mulling over what he said. I decided he was probably speaking the truth. Otherwise, I didn’t see a reason for him to rush into a marriage for the sake of it. He could’ve been a serial killer and a cannibal, he was still undeniably gorgeous, and I bet he could pick whatever woman he wanted to go home with for the night.
As for the Sons of Munster changing… Cute. “If you’re trying to convince me that your syndicate is no longer doing illegal crap, try harder.”
“You can believe whatever you want, princess,” he said, “but like I said, I’ve paid for my crimes, and I’ve never been guilty of anything worse than those.”
I narrowed my eyes, knowing very well what he’d been guilty of. High-end cars had been involved—and guns. Lots of guns. There’d been separate charges; he’d been acquitted of a few, and then he’d gotten five years for the theft and an arms deal gone wrong.
If this was true, he wasn’t a killer or a rapist or trafficker.
If only gangsters could be trusted, huh?
I wasn’t going to let Finnegan fool me.
Our drinks arrived, and at the glimpse of a very male set of hands, I looked up to see our new server—and I almost choked. It was Agent Caldwell. Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out. If Finnegan noticed anything weird, or worse, suspected anything, I would be as good as dead. No doubt.
“Cheers, mate.” Finnegan smirked faintly and took a swig of his beer. “You ready to order, Emilia?”
“Um, yeah. Sure.” I took my glass and guzzled it like a pro. Phew. More vodka in this than I was used to. “Another drink, please.” I coughed and wiped my mouth.
Finnegan’s smirk widened. “I love a girl who can handle her liquor.”
Who said anything about handling it? Unless he meant handling it poorly, in which case I was the master.
I ordered a bowl of pho and a shrimp skewer, and who knew what Finnegan ordered. My ears were ringing too loudly for me to hear anything else.
Agent Caldwell walked away after collecting our menus, acting like nothing was wrong in the world.
Wait, had the first server been an agent too? How the heck was I supposed to know?
In an attempt to get my shit together, I refocused on Finnegan and circled back to a previous question. “How did you know I liked vodka cranberry?”
The fact that he knew I liked it didn’t interest me in the slightest. It was how he’d found out that I wanted to know because it wasn’t something I had stamped on my forehead. Nothing short of reading the journal in my nightstand would let him know I’d gotten so drunk on vodka cranberry at a party last year.
Jimmy kept mixing them for me, and I quickly developed a fondness for avoiding my life by sipping pink drinks that night. It’d been glorious until I threw up in the bushes outside my house.
Finnegan sat back and studied me, thinking, and fiddled absently with the edge of his coaster. “Last year, you felt sick and went to the nurse’s office. You admitted to her you’d had one too many vodka cranberrys.”
I guess that would do the trick, too.
I should’ve remembered that part.
“And Nurse Walsh is your aunt,” I stated.
“She is.”
“She also had a list with my name on it.”
His brows lifted a fraction. “You know about that?”
Ha! Caught him off guard, for once. “Spill the beans. Why the list?”
“Actually, it’s your turn now.” He sat forward and rested his forearms on the table. It wasn’t until then I noticed he’d taken off his suit jacket and folded up the sleeves of his shirt. Damn. Forearm porn was a thing.
I shook my head, cursing the distraction, and looked him in the eye. “My turn?”
He nodded. “To answer the questions.”
“Seems to me you know everything about me already.”
“Far from it.” He cracked the cutest grins sometimes. “You’re an only child, I take it?”
Oh, please. As if he didn’t know that yet. “Yes.”
“What about your mother?”
I inched back momentarily and kept my cool as Agent Caldwell delivered my drink. “Thank you. She’s dead.”
Finnegan cocked his head. “Really?”
“Really. She died giving birth to me.” My dad liked to remind me.
“That sucks.” Finnegan’s brows pinched together. “So it’s just you and your pop?”
“Pretty much.” I lifted a shoulder. “He has two sisters somewhere, but they don’t talk.”
“Damn. I guess your birthday next week will come with one hell of a party, then.”
I grinned and snorted a giggle, instantly irritated that he’d made me react that way. Finnegan, on the other hand, looked triumphant.
“Shut up,” I told him.
“You have a beautiful smile.”
I stifled a groan, a sigh, and the urge to bang my head against the table, and took a sip of my drink instead. Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him.
“The only surprise I’ll face on my birthday is whether or not my dad will kick me out,” I said.
“He won’t do that.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged. “I’ve paid him not to.”
“Motherf—Finnegan.” I couldn’t believe him. He threw these insane curveballs, usually when I was enjoying a brief second of ease. Now everything was a fucking flurry in my head again.
“I’ll explain, hon.” He lifted his palms, cautioning me. “You know I went to see him. I wanted to feel him out—or your relationship, I guess. He’s the one who said you’re out on your eighteenth birthday.”
It stung to hear that from Finnegan. It was humiliating. I had no family, and here was this stranger… I swallowed and brought my hands to my lap. So it was confirmed. Dad wanted me out.
“Why would you…” Crap. It hurt too much to ask why he’d pay Dad. It made it too real. My father really couldn’t stand me, his own daughter. “If I were homeless, I’d probably consider your fucked-up proposal more seriously.”
“Even I have limits.” He looked genuinely concerned, and that was worse.
Until it hit me. Jesus. He was smart. Tapping into my morals and doing me favors, doing good deeds… “Christ.” I blew out a breath and sent the ceiling a glance. Finnegan didn’t want to yank me toward him the whole way. He wanted me to come somewhat willingly, and helping me out would what, warm me up to him? “Good tactic,” I noted.
“Thanks.” He sent me a self-deprecating smir
k, though it died pretty quickly. “I’m serious, though. You don’t deserve his treatment.”
I couldn’t warm up to this bastard. I refused.
“You actually gave him money.” No wonder Dad been going to the bar more this week. He could suddenly afford it.
Finnegan nodded with a dip of his chin. “You can stay with him as long as you want.”
It was never a matter of what I wanted.
“Why are you doing this? Why me?” I whispered in a moment of defeat. I felt painfully vulnerable and exposed, and I was ready to skip dinner and go home. “Please give me an honest answer.”
He stared at me pensively. There was an entire world and an ocean of answers behind those intense, calculating gray eyes, and he was his own vault. If there were any information he didn’t want to slip out, it would remain locked up. He was impossible to read.
I had a feeling he never walked into a place without an escape route. There was always a Plan B for this man. Everything he did and said was for a reason and had a purpose. That was the air he gave off anyway.
“I think my answers are changing.” He cleared his throat and frowned to himself. “I won’t divulge why I picked you to pursue specifically yet, but after seeing you, talking to you, I have more reasons than ever.” He met my gaze again. “I’m interested in getting to know you, Emilia. I can’t anticipate your reactions. You’re not the predictable girl I expected, so you’ve got me hooked.”
The irony of him telling me that. Our food arrived at the perfect time, because I had no answer for him. He seemed genuine, but I’d forever be left wondering and doubting his intentions as well as the level of truth.
Agent Caldwell’s temporary presence reminded me of why I was here. I had questions to ask, and I kept forgetting them.
“Enjoy your meal.” Agent Caldwell disappeared again.
Apparently, Finnegan wasn’t done speaking. “Listen. My original goal was convenience. To find a quiet woman who wouldn’t get in my way. It’s a dick move, but it’s the truth. Then I met you, and you’d rather tell me to fuck off.”